


Of prayers given to the sun

by Ladyboo



Series: Two left feet, but I'll dance if you'll have me [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:52:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Ladyboo
Summary: Words were important, words were meant to guide and to protect, to give one the chance to find the other half of their soul, the person who mattered most. They were supposed to be a guiding light and a rising force that stood in place of a person before their time of meeting had come, a way to remind someone that they weren't alone.Such romanticism was a lie, and he should have known better, for his mother was a romantic at heart, and Spock-he had erred, greatly, unknowingly, and he wasn't sure if he could make right.





	Of prayers given to the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there guys! It's been a while, life's been a little busy? Post-grad, trying to find my feet, that sort of thing. Anyway, here's the second installment, which I did say I would be posting, so have fun and have at  
> That said, this is unbeta'd? I'm not sure where my lovely lady went, she kind of dropped off the face of the earth, and theres an ocean between us, so I can't exactly go check on her? So, I apologize for any mistakes I've made!

In the sanctity of his childhood home, with the burning mid-day sun spilling in through the arching window with its usual heat, his mother wore her hair unbound and her arms bare. Billowing skirts and tunic blouses, she flushed a delicate rose in the light, and the garden of their home in Vulcana Regar would not see her attentions until the sun had begun to set later in the day. She was uninhibited within those smooth, sandstone walls, with her laughter free and her touches warmly given, and he had never known a memory from within those walls of her without her curling chestnut hair loose and her cheeks pinched from the presence of dimples with her smiles. 

She wore blue, a clean, crisp wash of blue in the palest of shades the color of her dress, and her feet were bare. Her fingertips stained purple from the  _ savas _ that she insisted on crushing into a juice, for she swore it tasted better when she did it herself, and there was an ever present song on her tongue in a language that he wasn’t yet fluent. She moved from the counter to the table where he sat with a fluid, graceful kind of sweeping motion that reminded him of the dancing that his father indulged her in some afternoons, and the glass she set in front of him was cool, filled with the first, sloshing sample of juice. 

The slender stretch of her arm, slim fingers slipping through the silken strands of his ink bangs, musing them, and Spock leaned into the touch just as he always did. Three, more than comfortable sitting by himself at the table, and he took a gulping mouthful of his juice, caught sight of the familiar words that lay on the inner curve of her bicep. 

_ ‘You are by far the most intriguing human I have ever encountered.’ _

The only Terran phrase he felt comfortable with, and yet, to the world that stretched beyond their home, it meant little. A simple collection of words, no insult nor explicative to be found, and to any who knew naught, they were little more than the truth. For she was most peculiar, as even he knew that at his young age, and she was by far fascinating indeed, and he loved his mother as much for her familiar comfort as he did for the things that made her individual, as well as her home pressed  _ savas _ and her  _ prusah kisan _ . 

“ _ Ko-mekh _ .”

A humming sound, and she gave him her attention in her dark eyes and a slight turn of her face. All the same, her fingers didn’t stop the pattern of motions she had fallen back into, and Amanda watched her son with a smile. 

“ _ Kan-bu _ .”

A scrunch of his nose, still too young to understand that such expressions of emotion were inappropriate and beneath him, and Spock set his glass down on the table with a clank. A quick smack of his lips, tongue chasing the flavor of the  _ savas _ from them, and he watched her with an open expression. 

“Can you teach me my words today?”

Her fingers paused, and an emotion that he didn’t understand crossed her full mouth and her wide eyes, but the smile that she gave him was soft. Her task was abandoned then, half pressed fruit and a pitcher mostly empty, and Amanda held out her hands to him instead. No hesitation to be found, he gave his much smaller hands to her, little presses of purple spreading across his pale mint skin, and Spock blinked at the sight before looking to his mother once more. 

She pressed kisses to both of his palms, a wash of love, of hope and of adoration slipping from her skin to his, and she curled her legs beneath her body to sit on the floor beside his chair. 

“You remember what I told you about words, right,  _ kan-bu _ ?”

“Words are important, because they help humans find the person who loves them the most, and they keep you safe.”

“Exactly.”

Another smile, and her finger traced the quick, slanted,  _ alien _ script that had been stamped across the thick, green vein in his right forearm. She turned his arm inward, folded it until those words were pressed against the upper left side of his chest where he knew her heart lay. 

“Words are human, and this-this is where a human heart is. If you go like this, your words go where your soulmates heart is, because it's your heart too. Every human has words in different places, okay? And yours are special, because somebody loves you so very much, Spock.”

Her voice was soft, and Amanda unfolded his arm so that the words were exposed once more, and she pressed her finger beneath the first, tracing them as she went. 

“You are absolutely incredible, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Two tries, and the second Terran phrase he learned became his favorite as he spoke it back in an unfamiliar tongue past smiling lips.

-

Humans, he learned, were peculiar things. 

Such a trait was far from an independent variable in his mother, though Amanda no doubt was indeed quite peculiar even by human standards. She had prepared him well for the strange characteristics that his fellow students exhibited, but her behavior had done nothing to give him warning for the cultural differences that separated his father’s world from hers. 

Tactile, vocal, prone to fits of over emotional responses and an alarming lack of logic, humans were more diverse than he had given them credit for, and also far more irritating than he had anticipated. Even three years into his studies on Earth, within the educated, open-minded cradle of Starfleet, and many particulars that made humans who they were escaped him. 

They were more than capable of speaking their minds as they were of being conversationally evasive, and yet, he would never understand how one could find it appropriate to give insult where there was no need. Crass speech and callous words, as if such things were necessary in such a setting, as if they did not expect some form of retaliation for their transgressions. There was a time and a place for anger, just as there was a time and a place for spite, and though he knew better, one whom he considered a friend,  _ ko-kai _ , had been spoken to in a manner far beneath what she deserved, or what was polite, and offence had been made.

He had risen from his seat across from her with a fury setting in his shoulders, had watched her embarrassed, stricken expression become one of confoundment and disbelief, and he had left Nyota at their table with such an expression as he found his way to the resource desk. 

Simple enough to find, with a hanging sign visible above the library stacks, and the man who sat at it was smaller than he, slighter in the shoulders and pale haired. Head bowed, an antique book held lovingly in his hands, Spock gave little pause to the way that the man sat quiet and folded in on himself. 

‘ _ You are unsettled.’ _

_ An unelegant snort, and her expression was tight with embarrassment and irritation when she glanced up at him. Her hair was loose about her shoulders, the twin set of words at the hollow of her collarbones on display, and Nyota clutched at her PADD with a sharp, aggravated inhale. _

_ ‘I’m insulted. The resource assistant is a pig.’ _

_ ‘He spoke out of turn?’ _

‘ _ You’ve got some pretty cock sucking lips, baby, how bout we go put those to good use? Yeah, I would call that out of turn. _ ’  _ A frown, and her gaze fell to the screen of her PADD as it came to life with a notification. ‘Gary’s always that crass though, I don’t really know what I expected.’ _

Smaller than he, slighter than he, and it wasn’t until he loomed over the other that a gaze turned his way. A striking, brilliant blue, the palest of shades, and from the fall of his hair to the cut of his jaw, he was beautiful. A shame that such an aesthetically pleasing visage was tarnished by a deplorable personality, but he gave little care to the notion as he instead watched the man rise to his feet. 

A smile at his lips, words on his tongue, but Spock spoke first, determined to say his peace and simply be done with the man. 

"You will never be anything more than a disgrace to your entire species."

The stricken expression he received was expected to a degree, but there was something about the confusion on his face that Spock found peculiar. One who had made such a salacious claim should not have looked so confused, so  _ hurt _ , and he felt the first threads of doubt begin to filter through his psyche. That false, practiced smile fell away, and instead, Spock was given an expression far more serious than he had anticipated. 

A heavy inhale, controlled and slow, as if the man needed something to center himself, as if the solid state of the ground beneath him weren’t enough. He didn’t move though, not apart from that inhale, and instead, Spock was given witness to the way that the man seemed to bolster himself.

The man's voice was smooth, clear and bright and carrying a weight that he couldn’t find the source of. It rang out, crisp and soft in the space between them, as if the words he said had been chosen with delicate care, and though Spock heard them, he felt himself grow cold. 

"You are absolutely incredible, and anyone would be lucky to have you."

That was the thunderous beating of his heart, beating a war drum tempo in his side, echoing in his skull. He could see the other man pulling himself back together, and heard the words that he said, a name, an apology for a transgression that he had not known of, and an excusal of himself. He was quick to flee, to put distance between them even though Spock wanted to reach out, wanted to brush his fingertips across the other man's skin, to try and fix the mistake that he had just made. 

_ Words are important, because they help humans find the person who loves them the most, and they keep you safe. _

No, the ground beneath him was not enough, solid or no, for he had the strangest sensation of feeling weak in the knees. His body ached suddenly, a burning throb that coursed through his blood, and within himself, his emotions were at war, mind crying out for him to give chase, for him to move. 

“Spock?”

Nyota beside him, with concern on her soft mouth and a furrow between her dark eyes, and she gave care with the touch of her hand to his shoulder. A soft, musing sound spilled from her lips, and she picked up the book that had been left on the table. She handled it with a familiar care, careful with the pages as she folded it shut. 

“Oh, Jim forgot his book.”

Jim, as if she were familiar with him, as if she knew the pale eyed, golden man that he had given such a grave injustice. Words were important, that was the first lesson that he had learned from his mother, and he had known it and worn it like a second skin, only to disregard it now, of all times. Fingers curling until his trimmed nails bit into the meat of his palms, Spock stared instead at the vacated space, before looking to where Jim had disappeared to. An employee door, behind the main desk, inaccessible as far as he was concerned. He would need to go around then, meet the man outside- but every second he spared standing in his own self loathing was one wasted. 

“Where does he live.”

“Spock?”

He turned to her then, with emotion on his face, with a raw kind of pleading in his gaze, and her full mouth hung open in a gap at the sight. Unprepared, but he gave her no time, desperation settling in the lines of his body even as a rage festered within his belly. He had done this, he had caused this, such insensitive words, and to think that he had branded the one who was to be the other half of his soul with such a thing, had caused him to grow with such words and the malice weight of them. He had shamed himself, had shamed his  _ mother _ , and there would surely be no forgiveness for this sort of transgression, not one that he would ever deserve, not for how he had erred. He had to try though, needed to give the effort, anything to try and calm the pleading, wailing desperation that had taken root within him.

“Where does he live, Nyota.”

“4418, Suncrest Gardens, 1E.”

-

He had passed this location more than once on his way to the Vulcan Embassy. A dark brick exterior and a red roof that Nyota had more than once called ‘cheery’, Suncrest Gardens sat a good fifteen minutes away from the bustle of campus where the houses stacked together and the dorms turned into homes and complexes with small lawns, fences and moderately quiet streets. High enough on the hill that he could see the glimmer of the bay, and Spock pressed through the lobby doors with burning lungs and a sharp determination. 

1E came quickly, the end of the hall on the left hand side, and as he paused to knock, he could hear it. 

Grieving, and overwhelmed, defeated sort of muffled wailing that came from the very depths of a person's soul. Tinged with rage, with defeat and an amalgamation of what was no doubt years of pain and of frustration, made sharp by a wet edge of tears. Sucking inhales, as if the person couldn’t get enough air within their lungs to center themselves, and he shut his eyes tight against the sound. 

Such pain, such devastation, the sound of it echoing within his blood, for he had been the cause of that bone deep feel. 

A single knock, and the sounds on the other side of the door cut off abruptly. A moment of silence settled, a moment where he thought that he could feel his heart trying its best to beat out of his side, and Spock found that it took more control than he had anticipated to remain calm in the face of the door rattling open. 

“Dad, you didn’t need to leave the offi-“

He didn’t know who this Dad was, this man that Jim referred to as father, but he knew the expression on the others face, for it was his fault. Stricken, wet cheeked and red eyed, with a flush to his skin and lips bruised from his own teeth, there was a beauty even in his distress. Spock could only stare as he tried to gather in the tattered remains of his self control, and the silence that he gave forth gave Jim ample time to try and shove the door shut once more. 

_ No _ .

No, he couldn’t take that, wouldn’t allow that to happen, for who would know if he would see Jim again? There would possibly be no other chance to try to reconcile for his actions, no moment in which he would be able to give apologies where surely apologies would matter little in the face of such pain. 

Pressing himself forward, the door bit into his shoulder when Jim tried to pull it shut, but Spock stood his ground, unwelcomed on the threshold to a home that wasn’t his. Before him, the slighter, golden man stumbled, took a step back with a near-flinch pulling across his flesh, and Spock could only observe. Despite his obvious trepidation, Jim straightened, pulled a bitter, biting strength from somewhere deep within at a depth that Spock was nothing if not grateful for, for he deserved that rage, he welcomed whatever fight Jim wouldn’t find within his skin.

“You need to leave.”

Such finality, as if nothing he would say would change the others mind, but there was a waver to his voice. A brittle sound, a crackle along the seams, and he watched as the other half of his soul grimaced, grit his teeth, but his brilliant gaze never wavered. If anything, he pushed harder at the door, and the bloom of pressing pain on his shoulder was deserved. 

He didn’t know what else to do though, what to say or how to move, not when he wanted to press those tears away, not when he wanted to gather the other man close and protect him from everything, even if the danger it seemed was Spock himself. 

“ _ Please _ .”

He didn’t think he had ever uttered such a word, for pleading was a set of mind that had always been beyond him. On occasion, perhaps when he was younger, when his mother had done her best to instil manners in their most base of forms, but decades had passed between, and the word felt foreign on his tongue. 

All the same, it felt necessary, seemed the only thing he could give to convey what he wanted, the repentance that he needed to offer in light of what he had done. He had always stood strong, even in the face of the natural horrors within the Forge when he was but a child, and though he was unsure if he would be received, he was certain that he had to try. A tremble ran across his frame, fine and sharp, and he felt the ache of it within his structure as he kept his hands to himself, as he laid himself bare for a man who was everything, whom he had treated as if he were nothing.

The words came quickly then, spilled free in a rush that he had no chance to contain, and Spock could hear himself speaking in the detached, out of body experience in which he had no control over himself or his emotions for the first time since he had learned how to hold himself in check through sheer force of will.

“I have never understood the desire to pray, nor the necessity that species have to ask for forgiveness for their actions. Forgiveness is illogical, remorse is of little consequence and there is no logic to an apology. Yet I find that I would fall to my knees for you, I would beg for you to allow me to begin again, and I ask for forgiveness for the first time in my life. I have caused you an inexcusable grievance, and I find that I...I fear that I will never be permitted to make this right. I have caused you irrevocable harm with my callous words, and I have done nothing to cherish you like the gift that you a-“

His love was quick, his love was coiled strength and flurried motions and a body that moved with an elegant, volatile ease. Jim lurched out of the entryway, closed the distance that separated them to instead press a warm hand across the loose press of Spock’s lips, cutting off his speech. Such a free touch, as if Spock deserved to feel the other's skin against his, and he felt as he lost control of his own expression, eyes shutting tight at the sudden onslaught of emotion.

Pain, such an old, festering sort of hurt that it pulled at the very base of his  _ katra _ until he felt as if he would weep, sinking fast and heavy into his nerves, his blood. Longing, isolation, self-loathing and a sense of resignation so deeply ingrained that he could taste the bitter curl of it within his lungs and upon his tongue, his fingers held a tremor when he carefully took Jim’s wrist in hand. The most gentle of touches, the same sort of care that he had given when he had brushed his mother's hair when he was younger, the delicate press that he used to brush his fingertips across Nyota’s cheeks in the affectionate, familial kisses traded between siblings. 

There was a loose, pliant press to Jim’s body then, lacking the tension that had radiated from him earlier, and Spock held no chance in trying to hold onto the ruined remains of his shields, left bare without their guard. 

“I have committed a grave crime against you, to cause you such undue pain.”

Those eyes were lost to him then, hidden beneath dark golden lashes, and Jim tipped his head away, as if to protect himself from the words that were spoken. Such simple things, and they should have been harmless, should have been given easily and freely, but he knew better now. Such damage he had caused, the bone deep, aged anguish that had taken root deep beneath Jim’s skin.

Words were important, and it was his fault that Jim reacted as such, tried to shield himself and put a distance between them.

When he was younger, smaller and more open with his emotions, when he gave in to the craving for contact and leaned into his mother's easy touches, he had enjoyed the experience of being wrapped in her arms. The soft scent of her perfume, a scent he would come to know as roses and wisteria, and the warmth of her skin as she soothed her fingers through his hair, such things were sensations that he associated with comfort, and while he didn’t have the right, Spock slowly gathered Jim into his arms. 

It was strange, to hold another so, to cradle another within his arms as if they were the most precious of things. It was fitting then, for Jim was indeed the most precious of persons that he would ever be permitted to hold, to try and comfort in such a way. Still, he held Jim close, tucked against his chest and beneath his chin, and the other man smelled like the heat that filled the sunlit air of Vulcana Regar, bright and burning.

There was no fight that he could sense from the others skin, and instead, there was nothing more than hesitation, than a hint of unease and a curl of confusion, of uncertainty and a faint fluttering of hope, spreading beneath Jim’s skin to slide across his own.

“I have questions.”

Questions that he didn’t deserve the answers to, that he didn’t have the right to ask, and he felt the way that Jim’s hands hung limp at his sides. Uncertainty, but there was that hope, that thin, wisping hope, and Spock held to it with everything that he had, heard the tremble in Jim’s voice.

“O-okay.”

Careful, gentle, he lifted a hand, pressed his fingers through the soft, silken strands of blonde, felt the shimmer of the others  _ katra _ against his nerves. Unseen, his mouth opened on an attempt of speech, but the words were difficult to find when there were so many of them to try and choose from.

“I do not understand the decision to give me such kind words when the ones I have given you are far from acceptable.”

Those were hands upon him then, after a moment of consideration, for Jim didn’t know what to do with them, where to hold. They settled on his hips though, and Spock nearly jolted at the touch for he hadn’t expected to be received in such a way, and he pulled a silent sigh.

“Words can hurt,” There was a familiar kind of anguish in that voice, for he now knew the echo of those emotions across his own skin and within his own psyche, and such a feel had been his own fault.  “So I make it a point to be kind, if I can.”

A shrug, the motion cut off by his arms, and while Spock adjusted to compensate for such a motion, he gazed into the empty space behind them. There was an understanding within him then, and while in part he could admit to admiring such a trait, the reasoning for its existence was enough to give him a hard blink. His own carelessness was the cause to such wary care, and Spock knew then that he had never felt more ashamed of himself than in that instant.

He didn’t know whether the motion was meant to comfort Jim, or to comfort himself, but he pressed his mouth to Jim’s forehead in a soft Terran kiss. 

“My name is Spock. I have erred greatly, and although I do not deserve it, I ask for the chance to show you how perfect I find you.”

Those hands gripped at his hips, and with the scent of sunshine and of fire curling in his lungs, Spock didn’t bother to try and contain his relief as Jim spoke, words muffled and soft.

“I think I would like that.”

“I will endeavor to not disappoint.” 


End file.
